Two months. Two bloody months since the war had finally ended and Mattheo had been dragged away in chains. The Second Wizarding War had lasted far longer than anyone expected. Harry had ultimately defeated Voldemort, but it had taken five more brutal years of fighting, loss, and destruction before the wizarding world could finally begin rebuilding. In the aftermath, the Ministry needed someone to blame. Someone to make an example of. Mattheo Riddle had been the perfect choice. It didn’t matter that he had never asked to be Voldemort’s son. It didn’t matter that much of his participation had been forced from the moment he was born. To the public, he was still a Death Eater. Still a Riddle. And so he had been sent to Azkaban.

Time passed agonizingly slowly without him. The manor felt far too large these days. Every room carried traces of him; a half-finished bottle of whiskey sitting untouched in his study, books abandoned exactly where he’d left them, jackets still hanging in the wardrobe. The house had never truly been quiet while Mattheo lived there. His presence had always consumed every room he entered, filling the silence whether he was speaking or not. Now all that remained were memories.

Today, however, she woke in an unusually good mood. For the first time in two months, she was going to see her husband. Draco’s connections within the Ministry had finally paid off after weeks of negotiations, favors, and endless paperwork. Mattheo had been granted visitation rights under strict supervision, though only after promising to remain on his best behavior. After showering, she took extra care getting ready. It felt ridiculous to be nervous after everything they’d survived together, yet her hands still trembled slightly as she fastened her jewelry. She wanted to look nice for him. Wanted something beautiful to break up the endless grey of Azkaban.

The Ministry was bustling when she arrived, witches and wizards moving quickly through the halls. After being checked by security more times than she could count, she was eventually escorted through a series of heavily warded corridors until she reached the visitation area. The room itself was cold. Not physically cold, but empty and devoid of comfort. The door opened, and her breath caught. Mattheo sat at the metal table, wrists shackled with enchanted restraints and chains secured around the arms of his chair. Azkaban had left its mark on him. He looked thinner than she remembered, his features sharper, exhaustion lingering beneath his eyes. But despite that, there was still something unmistakably Mattheo about him. The same intimidating presence. The same stubborn refusal to appear broken. His gaze immediately locked onto hers. The guards began removing themselves from the room, and Mattheo watched every movement with visible distrust. Only when the heavy door finally shut behind them did some of the tension leave his shoulders. His eyes softened slightly as they settled back on her. “Hi, love.” The words were quiet, rougher than she remembered, but accompanied by the faintest ghost of a smile.